The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 179: what you’re looking at

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wipe e: 3 nears) > 166 THE MYSTSELES OF THE COURT. ro a-_- @ wa» Christian bowed and withdrew. He presently | signs of gommg mad. She did go mad too, a short isarnt thet the Hon. Mr. Stanhope was at Oak. | time after the inquest, and was sent homie to het lands—but that there were no other guests. He diso learnt, in a casual manner from the steward, that it was very seldom the Daké of Marchmont paid Oaklands a Visit,—his Grace generally giving the preference to eountry-sedtes which he possested im other counties. « Bat this,” said Mr. Purvis, the steward, “is etaresty to be wondered at, when we consider the painful impression which the tragedy that took here seventeen or eighteen y ago, was bat too well caloulated to make upon his Grace’s mind,—an impression which could scarcely weat off altogether, everi at this distanee of time. You eee, Mr. Ashton,” contmued the steward, who wae an old inan and disposed to be garrulous, “it Was not altogether so much the late Dake’s death - 22jhe was arttdered, you know, poor man !—that so cruelly affticted his present Grace; but it was the circumstance that this murdét was perpetrated by his Grave's own brother !” “I have rea the sorfowftl decount;” said Christian; “ khd it much shocked me: Have any tidings evér been received of Mr. Bertram Vivian, who committed the murder?” __ “None,” answered old Partis. “ Of course Mr. Bertram went off at once with the Dathess— I dare aay to America, whete he had been before; and it is to be supposed they tovk anothé? name; and did all they could to concval themselves.” “Were you here at the tints of the tragedy P” Christian. : “Vosg—I was irideed,” responded the old ufen, shaking Nis head mournfully. “I was butler then ; and it wes me aud our late Duke’s own talet— Beachley by namie—who discovered thé body of our poor master. Oné of these days I will take and dhow you the spot. Ah! Mr. Ashton, it was a shocking thing—a very thocking thing! Of all the servants who were hére at thé time, I am the only ore that how remains. The ofhers have got seattered abrodd irl one way or snother—dome tiseeh in the wotld—some marricd—— in short, I don’t know how it has been, bat I am the otily one left: Ah! talking of Leachley, the late Dake’s ‘ vilet—he tdatried & farmer's daughter about & ddeeti miles from here; dnd when the old nif @ind, hé tuok the farm. He had got off well. see him sometimes: he rides over to the off plnte to pay fic A visit. It’s dull enough, I can assure my Hfe, to have the family here for at least half of every yeat—and tuch guietics and festivities !” “ and was the Dachess Etied very bodutifal *”’ " “ Beantifal P” said the old tian: “it is scarcely the word, She was the loveliest creature I ever est eyes tpon. But ah! how wicked of her to lose herself with Mr. Bertram—though it did appear they had loved each other before her marridce with . the Duke. These are sad topics to converse apon ; and yet ¥ don’t know how it is, Mr. Ashton, but the saddest topics ate sometimes those which ote lives to talk of most.. Ab, by the bye, I forgot to 4. tell yoi—spesking of thé servants who were hero at | the time—that there was one yousg womah—her “genne was Jane—sho was her Grace’s ptincipal bedy’s-maid—she loved lér Grace deuriy — and friends. I never heard what became of her : but I should Have liked to know, poor thing !” Again the old batler paused and shook his head gloomily. “Bat was it quite certain after all,” inquired Christian, “that the Duchess Elisa was guilty in respect to Mr. Bertram Vivian? For I remember to have read in the account which aécidentalty fell into my hands a little while back———” “Ah! I think I know to what you dilude, Mr. Ashton,” interrupted the old steward: “ Yes—- the late Duke did proclaim his wife’s tinocence— did declare that he had wronged her; and he &is- persed us all about in séarch of her when the fled from the house. For the moment wé rejvicad at the idea of her Grace’s innocence: for she was beloved by use all. But then came the murder: ai€ whd conid hive murdered the Dake but Ber- tram Vivian? and why should he have murd him, if not to possess hithself of his wife? And why should both have disap and never since have been heard of? Is it riot clear that they fied together P—and if that was the case, must they not have been previously too intimate? Besides, it appeared in the newspapers that the Duke said he had wronged his wife; ard she must have seen if —<dnfl if she was innocent world she hot have comé forward P” “True!” said Christian, with mournfainess of tone and look: fof im the natural mity of his eharacter and in the chivalric generosity of | hi# Gisposition, hé would much rather have be- lieved that the beautifat Dachess Eliza, to whodé name 6 sad a romantidé interest attached itself, was really innotent. “Yos, yed—she was guilty,” proceeded the old steward: “there can be no Aoubt about #. I don’t huow what it was that made the poor Dake suddenly think otherwise: but I do know that thé present Duke behaved most admirably in thé matter; and did all he could to soften down his uncle’s feelings and effect a reconciliation. Ah! you @hould have seen his Grace—I mean the present Duke—when ho gave his evidence a thé inquest——how he was overcome by his feelings! —for he loved his brother Béttram dearly: Ah! when I think of it; it brings tears into my eyes. But the evidente was too convincing. Thé dog, you know, had torn off a piece of the marderer's you—aectstomed as I was for so lotig & period of | coat—which was proved‘to have been that of Mr. Bertrath. And then too thote was tho dager ——it #4 still heré at Oskiands, Mr. Ashton,” added the steward in & low voice: “dad one of these Ady I will show it to you.” When Christian was again alone, he thonght te himself what & pity it was that the Duke ‘of Marchmont shold have become so changed front the admirable chatatter he appeared to Hitve been at the time of the tragedy. Then, as all accounts eoncurred it representing, he exhibited the most generoas feelings and the most maghanimous dif- position: but now how different was he !—darkly and treacherously compassing the fufh of the beantifal and virtuois woman whom he had swortt at the altar to love, cherish, and protect! Christiat was shocked when he reflected on the contrat between the man of the time of the tragedy, atid when it all took place, the poor creature showed | the man of the present day. | | en (GO) AACE DOO Col